


spit cup

by greenurr



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Banter, Id Fic, Idiots in Love, Impregnation Kink, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rimming, Rut, Topping from the Bottom, Verbal Humiliation, Wet & Messy, mpreg mention, no mpreg though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenurr/pseuds/greenurr
Summary: It was embarrassing, but Tom only realized he was in rut well into the last week of January. It was Thursday, and he was in Starbucks because Mike had mentioned, off-hand, that he was a little bit tired and needed some caffeine. Tom got to the front of the line, made eye contact with the pretty omega boy behind the register, and barely caught his drool with his own hand.





	spit cup

**Author's Note:**

> I unabashedly LOVE a/b/o fic and I've always wanted to do my own spin on it because I feel as a community, nay, country, nay, human race, we've really not explored the weirdness of a/b/o. Like sure, we've explored the regular weirdness, but what about the off-brand weirdness? Give me your poor, your tired, your weird twists on traditional bodily functions. 
> 
> Now, you may ask, "Hey, what are the biological realities and/or larger societal implications of this 'verse you've written?" and as an answer I will put my fingers in my ears and sing "La la la la la la la" until you stop asking me. This is my id fic! Let me pretend that being especially equipped to eat ass is a genuine evolutionary advantage! STIs don't exist in this world, there is no weird alternate universe alpha/omega sexism, and I can do what I want!
> 
> (The alpha spit thing is an idea that I read once in a Teen Wolf fic that I have been unable to find ever since, and it was such a great idea I adopted it as my own. If anyone can find the author with the original idea, please let me know so I can credit them!)

Tom didn’t realize his rut was coming. It made him sound like an idiot, but it was true. It happened twice a year, and every time, he made a resolution to track it. Every time, he forgot. He just figured his winter rut happened at some point from late November to late February, and his summer rut from late May to late August. He generally just ball parked it, always made sure to have supplies on hand. It was usually fine.

\---

He started eating a lot of red meat the first week of January.

As a rule, he actually preferred lean meats. Chicken. Fish. When he wasn’t in rut, eating too much red meat tended to make his stomach hurt. But when he stepped into Ikea with Mike and Andre one day after morning practice, all he could think about were meatballs.

They were doing their best to be real grown ups, with a real grownup apartment. That apparently included chairs that weren’t beanbags. Mike had scoped out an armchair he liked on the Ikea website, but he wanted to see it in person, and had brought Andre and Tom along for their opinion, not that either of them really had one. He didn’t think Mike did either, really, he just picked the one he thought looked the comfiest.

They hadn’t even made it to the living room section before Tom was sniffing the air and shifting on his feet.

“Can I go get meatballs?” he asked, looking to Mike. He wasn’t sure why he asked permission. Maybe because Mike was sort of leading the furniture scouting mission.

Andre snorted. “You literally just ate steak for lunch, pal. How are still hungry?”

“I dunno,” said Tom. He wasn’t hungry, not really. He just… wanted to eat.

Mike gave him a look. “Yeah, go ahead man. We’ll meet you there when we’re done.”

“You bet,” said Tom, and moved to turn in the opposite direction, towards the smell of the meatballs.

“Hey, wait,” said Mike. Tom turned around. “Can you get some for me too, bud?”

Mike’s voice was a little strange, maybe a little hesitant. Like he was testing something out. Tom barely noticed though, because he was too busy perking up at the idea of getting something for Mike. Of being helpful. He nodded.

As he walked away, he heard Andre say, “Alright, but I’m not sitting next to him in the car on the way home if he eats all that red meat.” Mike laughed.

By the time Mike and Andre joined him in the cafeteria, Tom was weirdly nervous. As they sat down, he gently nudged the meatballs towards Mike. He watched closely as Mike took the first bite, and only relaxed at Mike’s murmured, “it’s good, babes.” His nose had been particularly sensitive for some reason, and the smell of an omega’s satisfaction, Mike’s satisfaction, smelled like the best thing in the world.

Tom waited until Mike had finished all of his meatballs before starting his own. He could feel Mike’s eyes on him as he ate. Maybe it should have made him nervous, but it just felt… nice.

\---

Tom was unpacking groceries when Mike walked into the kitchen, shirtless. Mike had clearly just woken up from a nap—his eyes were heavy, his hair was a mess, and he was scratching at his bare stomach. Tom had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the hair trailing down Mike’s stomach into the waistband of his shorts.

“I got food,” said Tom, turning away.

“I didn’t realize we needed any,” said Mike. He went to pour himself a glass of water. “Andre went to the store like, a day ago.”

Tom bristled, a little bit. He wasn’t sure why. The idea that Mike would depend on Andre to get him food felt… wrong, even though obviously, there was nothing wrong with it. They all did the grocery shopping, whenever it was needed. It made no difference if Mike ate something Andre had bought, versus Tom. But it felt like it did.

Mike came over to survey the food that Tom had bought. It was only looking at it through Mike’s eyes that Tom realized he had bought… a lot of food. Like, a lot. And very protein heavy. He had four packages of chicken breasts out on the counter, and had already put two in the freezer. Two huge bags of spinach. Two containers of Greek yogurt. A bunch of power bars. A full gallon of milk, even though they already had one in the fridge. Canned soup, and beans. Pasta. Tomato sauce. Four pounds of Atlantic salmon. And, for some reason, a new frying pan that he didn’t remember making the decision to buy.

“Oh, here,” Tom said, remembering. He unpacked a jar of crunchy peanut butter, handed it to Mike. They didn’t usually get crunchy peanut butter, because Mike was the only one who ate it, but Tom had passed it in the store and just picked it up without thinking. “This is for you. There was a two for one deal, so I got four jars.”

Mike nodded, thoughtfully, and pulled open the cutlery drawer, fished out a spoon. He cracked open the jar, and took out a heaping spoonful. Tom held his breath as Mike put the spoonful in his mouth.

“This is yummy, thanks. Good job getting that deal.” Mike put another spoonful in his mouth. Tom could literally feel himself pushing his chest out in pride.

“No problem,” said Tom. “Whenever you want me to go to the store, just let me know. I’ll get you whatever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Mike, eyes narrowing as he took another bite of peanut butter.

 

\---

That night, when the two of them were watching a movie on the couch in the living room, Mike shivered and rubbed his arms.

“It’s a little cold in here, huh?” he asked, turning to Tom.

Tom immediately got up from the couch, walked into his room, and pulled his comforter off of his bed. He came back, and wrapped Mike up in it, until only his head was poking out.

“Do you want me to turn up the thermostat?” he asked.

“No, this is good, thanks,” said Mike, smiling. He looked so cute, and there was something really pleasing about Mike wrapped up in something that belonged to Tom.

That night, when he went to bed, he could smell Mike on his comforter, the lingering scent of a happy, provided-for omega mixing with his own smell. He rubbed himself off on it, only turning over at the last second to come on his stomach instead of the blanket. He passed out immediately after.

\--- 

When he went in for a hug in the locker room, after a win, TJ immediately pulled back.

“You smell funky, dude,” he said, wrinkling his nose. Tom sniffed. He couldn’t smell a whole lot really, just the smell of the hockey locker room and TJ’s mellow beta scent, and, somehow, from across the room, Mike’s sweat, weirdly muggy and sharp at the same time.

“It’s hockey, dude,” said Tom, and pulled TJ in to give him a noogie.

\---

It was embarrassing, but he only realized well into the last week of January. It was Thursday, and he was in Starbucks because Mike had mentioned, off-hand, that he was a little bit tired and needed some caffeine. He got to the front of the line, made eye contact with the pretty omega boy behind the register, and barely caught his drool with his own hand.

The boy was maybe a few years younger than Tom, with stunningly high cheekbones and shiny black hair. He had tattoos of flowers covering one forearm, and rings on almost every finger. He smelled like coffee, unsurprisingly, and milk, and baked goods, and also like sex.

Tom took in another breath, and realized that the boy smelled like sex with another omega, and. Tom was hit with his full rut like a bus. He imagined the boy in bed with an unspecified omega. Kissing and rubbing up against each other before they had to go into work. Maybe using toys, getting their scents all intermingled.

Suddenly, it was Mike with this barista. In his bed. Kissing him. His big blocky body a perfect counterpoint to this willowy stranger.

“I am so sorry,” he said, as more drool came out. He didn’t want to wipe it on his clothes, because rut saliva was designed to be used as a lubricant. It stayed incredibly thick and basically never dried out. No matter what you mopped it up with.

“I’m sorry, man,” said the barista, eyes kind. “I’m not into alphas.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” said Tom. The barista handed him a plastic cup from behind the counter, and Tom spit into it. “Fuck.”

“I mean, you don’t smell too terrible for an alpha.” The barista smiled. Tom did his best to smile back, and only drooled a little bit more. “Is there somebody I can call for you? To pick you up? Your omega?”

“No, there’s. No, sorry,” said Tom. Things were getting hazy, quick. He swayed on his feet. Caught himself.

The omega tilted his head. “Did you drive here?” Tom nodded his head.

The omega looked like he was making a decision. “I can’t let you drive; you’re legally incapacitated. And you’re my responsibility…” He took off his apron and turned to his coworker. “I’m taking my break. I’m gonna get this guy home, make sure he’s safe. I’ll be back in a half an hour.”

His coworker, a beta, nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Go. I’ll cover for you.”

The barista came out from behind the counter. Guided Tom out of the store with a hand on his back.

“Do you want me to. Buy you something from the store? Not because I want to, you know,” Tom spit into his cup and then flapped his hands together in a way that was supposed to represent fucking, “I know you’re gay. But like, are you hungry? Or thirsty? Can I. Get you something? I don’t wanna be like, ‘oh, I’m rich.’ But like. I’m pretty rich.”

The omega laughed. “You’re very sweet, but I’m fine. Which one’s your car?”

Tom started losing time on the drive back to his place. He remembered the weak sunlight on his face. Wishing for sunglasses but not being able to ask for them. Spitting into his cup. Trying to remember how to give directions. Vague landmarks. They eventually pulled into his building’s parking garage. The omega almost had to pull him out and support him to the elevator.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said again. Tilted his head back so he wouldn’t drool on the carpet.

“You’re fine,” said the barista. “What else is omega strength for, if not dragging around rut drunk alphas? Is this one yours?”

Suddenly, they were at his floor. Before he could fumble for his keys, the barista just knocked on the door.

If Tom felt like he had been rut-hit by a bus in the Starbucks, Mike opening the door was like getting hit by a freight train. He smelled so good. And was so handsome. Tom tipped himself forward until Mike caught him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your coffee,” said Tom, into Mike’s collarbone. “I got you. A cup of spit instead.”

“Well, that’s almost as nice,” said Mike, and started rubbing Tom’s back. Tom relaxed. He let loose a deep, satisfied sound that started in his chest. A happy alpha noise. Somewhere between a rumble and a purr. Over the sound of his own purring, he could catch snippets of conversation.

“…wouldn’t have sent him out if I’d known he was that close…”

“No worries… my responsibility, as an omega… said he didn’t have anyone to call?”

“…oblivious sometimes… know how alphas are…”

Laughter. Tom laughed too, even though he didn’t know why they were laughing.

“…kept trying to buy me stuff… really funny…”

“…he’s a good one… take it from here… thanks so much….”

“What’re we gonna do with you, mister?” Mike rocked Tom back and forth for a moment. Tom hummed in happiness. “Come on.” Mike pulled Tom’s arm over his shoulders, hauled him up and into Tom’s bedroom.

When they got there, things had changed. His mattress was on the floor, in the corner of the room. Sheets were hanging up all around it. The lights were dim, and the windows were blocked off. There was a space heater going in the corner, making the room much hotter than the rest of the house. All of his pillows and blankets were piled up high. Mike had taken out ones in storage, even. And from the living room.

“You made a den,” said Tom.

“I knew you were going into rut soon. I figured it was better to be proactive, since you didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Here,” Mike said, and gently lowered Tom down onto the mattress. He turned Tom onto his side and shoved a dishtowel under his head.

“Take a nap and try not to choke on your own spit.” Tom reached a heavy hand out to grasp at Mike. Mike caught it, and linked it with his own. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That was the last thing Tom remembered before passing out.

\---

Tom woke up to a pillow indent in his cheek, a soaking wet towel under his face, and the gentle smell of a slightly turned on omega filling his nostrils. Mike was lying next to him, half propped up, with his phone absurdly close to his face like it always was.

“Hi,” he said, and coughed. His mouth was somehow simultaneously extremely wet and also desert dry at the same time.

“Here, babe,” said Mike, putting his phone down, passing him a bottle of water. “Andre stopped by, got us some stuff.”

Tom sniffed. He could smell the lingering smell of Burkie, fresher than usual in his room. It smelled like hair product and amused beta.

“Did he laugh at me?” asked Tom, and chugged a half a bottle of water.

“Oh, for sure,” said Mike.

“Aw, man,” said Tom.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think he was laughing at both of us.”

“Well… a little bit, yeah.”

Mike sighed, laid down on his side, facing Tom. “We should talk about this, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “I’m sorry I springed this on you—”

“Springed it on me? Tom, you’ve been rut-silly for like… a month now. I’m surprised you haven’t bought me a boat at this point.”

“Did you want a boat?” asked Tom, forlorn. How could he not have realized Mike wanted a boat? He could imagine Mike on a boat, now, shoulders red and hot to the touch. Imagined putting aloe on them, kissing them and getting the towel all sticky when he laid Mike out on the floor of the boat and… well. Did things he shouldn’t imagine doing with his best friend.

Mike sighed, and replaced the towel under Tom’s head, trying to keep up with the excess saliva generated by Tom’s nasty illicit boat fantasies.

“I don’t want a boat, babe,” Mike said. “I’m just saying you’re so far gone you would have gotten one for me.”

“Of course I would have bought you a boat,” said Tom, offended. “I would have bought you the best boat. I woulda done research online and everything.”

“And that’s great, baby,” said Mike. “But you’re really missing the point here, which is that I’ve been trying to flirt with you for a month and you haven’t fucking noticed.”

“Oh. For real?” That seemed baffling. Tom can’t imagine how he wouldn’t have noticed if Mike was flirting with him. He’s been so attuned to Mike this past… few… weeks. Right. Rut-stupid.

“Yes,” hissed Mike. “You kept on bringing me gifts, and buying me things, and I kept accepting them and then complimenting you on them! _Thomas_ , that’s not even flirting anymore! That’s courting! We’ve been courting for a month and you haven’t fucking noticed!” Mike’s voice rose to a little shriek with that last part, and Tom saw his little sharp omega incisors drop down. They were left over from the days when omegas would go off hunting, fast and sneaky and smart, and alphas would stay home and do the heavy duty, everyday work, like farming and taking care of the kids.

Tom puts his thumb up to one of Mike’s incisors, and Mike quieted. “Pointy,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Because I’m fucking annoyed.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tom, despondent. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.” His emotions tend to get stronger and simpler during rut. Insticts coming to the forefront. Provide. Soothe. Please. The idea that he had been an annoyance to Mike, even indirectly, makes his eyes well up with tears. He never wanted to annoy Mike. He likes Mike so much. He wants to stay in this nest with him, forever, and get him pregnant, and then take care of their kid while Mike goes off and does stuff, and now he’s never going to get to do that because he had been stupid and annoying and hadn’t bought Mike a boat.

Mike sighs heavily and pulls Tom on top of him, rubs his back a little. “I always forget how sensitive you guys get during rut,” says Mike.

“Not so sensitive,” says Tom, and thinks about telling Mike about what he likes later in rut. How he gets so desperate, he likes to get made fun of, just a little bit.

Mike hums and presses a kiss to the top of Tom’s head. Tom isn’t there yet, in any case, and lets out a sob, just a little one. Mike hums in sympathy.

“You didn’t make me mad, baby. I’m sorry for saying that. You’ve done a really good job taking care of me this month. I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Tom sniffs.

“Yuh-huh. The best.”

“Oh. Well, then. That’s alright.”

“Better than alright,” Mike says, and smiles down at him. He looks so happy, and smells so good, that Tom’s mouth floods with saliva again.

“Aw, geez, bud,” says Mike, and laughs, mopping up his face. But all Tom can think about. Is his little teeth. And the sight of his nipples through his t-shirt. He can feel a flush spread across his face. His rut resurges. He can smell when Mike notices because his scent gets. A lot more interested. In proceedings. Tom wants to. Lick his nipples.

“Can I. Lick your nipples.”

“Yeah, sure, bud,” says Mike, pulling up his shirt to his armpits. It frames them perfectly, little and sweet and a lovely dark brown. Tom moans when he gets his mouth on them. Licks and sucks. Mike sighs in pleasure and brings a hand to Tom’s hair, pets him. He keeps his teeth out of the way, just licking and sucking, switching between the two and always rubbing a thumb over the one he doesn’t have in his mouth. After a little while, though, Mike takes that hand and brings it down to cup over his cock.

Tom squeezes, and Mike sighs again, pushing into his hand.

“Yeah, babe. That feels so good.” Tom has to close his eyes at that, grind his cock down against the mattress.

“Oh, you like that, huh baby?” asks Mike. Tom can hear a smile in his voice. “You like it when I tell you how good you’re being for me? How nice you make me feel?” Tom groans desperately. Nods his head as well as he can. Mike pushes his head down. “I know a way you can make me feel even better, then,” he says, and lifts his hips so Tom can pull of his shorts. Tom is too busy salivating at the idea of sucking Mike’s cock to make fun of him for the shitty line.

The second he sees it, Tom immediately moves down to press his nose against the root of Mike’s cock, feeling coarse hair against his cheek. He smells like clean sweat and tastes like salt and skin. Tom presses a kiss against the top of Mike’s cock, opens his mouth to let the rut saliva spread down the length. Helps it along with his hand. Immediately everything is so slick, and hot. Mike moans and pushes his hip up, catches Tom in the eye with the head of his cock.

“Oops,” says Mike. When Tom looks up at him, he’s smiling. Tom smiles too, and then opens up his mouth, takes Mike in and sucks. Rubs his tongue against the underside of Mike’s cock. Lets Mike stroke against the soft skin of his inner cheek. Tom cups Mike’s balls in his hands, rubs his thumb against them. Squeezes. They’re wet, too. Everything is so wet, Tom’s mouth leaking. Mike brings his hands down to Tom’s head. Thrusts experimentally. Tom gives Mike a thumbs up, and so Mike digs his fingers into Tom’s hair and thrusts up again and again. Tom’s just doing his best to hold on with Mike’s dick catching over and over at the back of his throat. All Tom can see, smell, taste, is Mike. His world begins and ends with Mike’s hands in his hair, his cock in his mouth, Mike’s little huffs of pleasure. When Mike pulls him off, Tom lets out a little displeased moan.

Mike grabs his face by the jaw, reaches down and pinches Tom’s tongue between two fingertips.

“You’re so fucking wet for it, huh?” asks Mike. Mike’s smile is a little bit mean, now, in a way that Tom really likes. “You’re such a fucking slut. Getting so wet in public. I bet you’d let any omega sit on your face, your knot. Right in that coffee shop. Just line up. They’d use you, and you’d thank you them for it, right, baby? Wouldn’t you?”

Tom sobs, and Mike shakes him like a misbehaving dog. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeth,” Tom says, as well as he can around Mike’s fingers, still pinching his tongue. His slick is running down his chin, dripping onto Mike’s stomach. He can’t think. He just wants to make Mike happy, make him proud.

“That’s my alpha-slut. That’s my good, good boy. Now lick me out, baby, get me ready. I want to take your knot.”

Tom groans in gratitude, picks up Mike’s thigh and pushes it towards his chest. This is what he’s meant to do. This is why he has his slick in the first place, to get Mike ready, to prepare him, to serve him. Tom dives in like a starving man, licking around Mike’s hole, desperate, trying to get his tongue in. Mike groans and arches his back.

Tom presses in one finger, then two. Aims for Mike’s prostate, knows he hits it when he hears Mike hiss. He’s grinding his cock against the mattress. He can feel precome sticky on his stomach, can feel the pressure at the base of his cock telling him he’s already dangerously close to popping his knot. He presses in a third finger. The sheets under them are soaked already, Tom’s spit leaking down.

“Come fuck me, baby,” says Mike, and tugs at Tom’s hair. Tom heaves a huge breath, crawls as best he can back up the bed. Mike sticks a pillow under his hips, grabs Tom’s cock, and practically before Tom can react he feels himself sliding into Mike, slow, down the root. Tom gasps, hits his hand against the wall. Mike’s so hot and tight inside.

“C’mon,” says Mike, stroking his hands up and down Tom’s flanks like he’s a frightened horse. “Fuck me baby. Make me feel good.”

It’s definitely not the most elegant fuck of Tom’s life. His knees are slipping on the sheets, and he’s so fucking desperate, it’s only by the grace of God that he’s able to build up any momentum at all. Mike seems to enjoy it, though, which is what matters. His eyes are closed to lazy slits, his mouth open, little “ah”s knocked out of him on particularly hard thrusts.

Tom looks down to where they’re joined, has a moment of panic, and stops in his tracks.

“No. Condom.” He’s barely able to string the words together, his mouth heavy, refusing to work. There’s something wrong about that, but his mind isn’t able to put it together.

“I’m on the pill, baby,” says Mike, cradling Tom’s head in his hands. He smiles. “Thank you for looking out for me, but there’s no way you’re going to get me pregnant.”

Tom feels relief, and quick on its heels, with no input from him, intense disappointment. That’s all his body wants, right now. Never mind that it’s the wrong time. That it’s the middle of the season. That they aren’t even bonded. That neither of them are ready to be parents. All Tom wants, in the back of his brain, is to fill Mike up with his baby. Tom’s rut-drunk brain goes into overdrive, picturing Mike’s belly swelling, his body getting softer, his scent changing into something more complex. Helping Mike in and out of cars, fetching him glasses of water in the middle of the night when he’s too big to get out of bed. Putting his hand to Mike’s stomach and feeling something there, something that’s made of the two of them, together.

Mike’s smile widens. “Oh, you’d like that, huh?” he asks. “You’d love it if I got pregnant. You’d be giving me foot rubs every night. You’d be such a good alpha-daddy. Take such good care of me, of our kid.”

Tom groans, deep, starting to thrust faster. He can feel serious pressure starting in the pit of his stomach, at the base of his cock, where his knot is about to pop. Mike’s eyes only get brighter, mouth open in a grin so Tom can see his sharp, sharp teeth. Mike reaches up, grabs Tom by the throat, just enough so Tom can feel it.

“And then, after we had it, fuck. If you think I’m letting you out of the house, you’re god damn crazy. You’re gonna take care of that one, and the one after that, and the one after that. I’m gonna give you so many god damn kids to look after, you’ll have to retire early. Stay home and watch our kids, cook me food, have everything ready for me when I get home like a good alpha should. And it’s just for me. I’m the only one who gets to see you like that. You’re _mine_.”

At that last, hissed word, Tom loses it, finally. He thrusts into Mike as hard as he can, grinds as his knot grows. Cries out as the pressure increases, whites out. He’s distantly aware of Mike jacking himself off, swearing and coming, but the only thing he can pay attention to is the weakness in his legs, his trembling arms, the deep, pulsing ecstasy of a rut orgasm. It makes his whole body shake as he comes down, and he folds himself against Mike and starts to cry.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” yelps Mike, alarmed.

“That was just really a lot,” Tom sobs.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” says Mike, wrapping his legs and arms around Tom, holding Tom to and in his body. “I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. I just got carried away. You know I didn’t mean them.”

“No, I liked them,” sobs Tom. “I liked them, I did. It’s just all a lot.”

“Okay, babe, I believe you,” says Mike. He reaches to grab a clean washcloth, starts to wipe up the snot and tears and spit all over Tom’s face. “You’re leaking from every orifice, huh?” 

“Not every,” says Tom, sniffling. “Not my ears.”

“Not your ears, that’s right,” says Mike, distractedly, as he finishes wiping Tom’s face. “I am sorry for saying some of that stuff. We should have talked about it before. I was going with my gut, but I should have stopped and asked you.”

“It’s really okay,” says Tom. “Like yeah, we should have paused, but I liked it. I would have told you if I didn’t, or made us stop. Like I did with the condom, right?”

“God, that confused fucking look on your face,” says Mike, throwing his head back and laughing. “Like I would have let you fuck me without protection if there was a risk of me getting pregnant.”

Tom opens his mouth to answer, but at the mere mention of Mike getting pregnant, all that comes out is spit. Mike snatches the discarded Starbucks cup off the ground and manages to catch it before it hits him in the face.

“Anyways, you can talk about something in bed and not want it in real life. Like, I wouldn’t want to force you to retire under the weight of our dozen children.”

Tom grins, a little sloppily. “Yeah, because my hockey’s a beaut.”

“It sure is,” says Mike, reaching up with a towel to mop at Tom’s face. Tom doesn’t miss the catch in his breath, though.

“My hockey get you hot?” Tom laughs. He grinds his hips where they’re still connected, and Mike lets out a surprised moan. Mike covers his face with his hands.

“You fucking know it does,” he says, muffled.

Tom doesn’t necessarily take it as a point of pride that he’s able to hockey talk Mike onto coming again on his knot, but he doesn’t not, either.

\---

When they emerge after the second (or third) time, they find a note sitting in front of the door:

“left stakes + broccoli + potatoes in the fridge for u guys. tom ur rut better break soon cuz i can’t take another day of ur beef farts. it’s up 2 u mike. ur my only hope. –burk”

“Aw,” coos Mike. “He does love us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I live off kudos and comments, so they are very much appreciated!


End file.
